Letters from the Dead
by IlluminatedM
Summary: Months after Fred's death, George finds himself doing what little he can to rescue Hermione from the darkness that has swallowed her heart. On a trip to The Burrow, he finds her clutching a letter from his fallen twin within her hands, and his heart breaks alongside her as he reads the final words his brother wrote to the only woman he'd ever truly loved.


Everyone lost something in the war.

Some children lost parents, some parents lost children, and everyone lost someone.

The Weasley family lost a member, Molly lost a son, and George lost a brother. They understood loss better than most people would, but they would never understand Hermione's.

After all, none of them lost a soulmate.

In the few moments that contained a spellcast, the falling of a wall, and a final breath, Hermione had lost more than almost anyone in existence could understand.

The only person who even came close was George Weasley, but they were in no state to be of comfort to one another. Every time George looked at her, he saw a walking, talking reminder that his brother was gone; her misery reminded him that he was never coming back, and when Hermione looked at him, all she could see was a dead man's face with a voice that was all wrong, and ear that shouldn't have been missing, and an extra freckle that didn't belong. She loved George Weasley with all of the love still left in her heart, but she couldn't see _him _when she laid eyes on him, and both of them knew it. For George, this was a source of grief unlike any other; it was the first time in his life that he found no joy in being Fred.

Still, it had been three months since Fred died, and Hermione wasn't even pretending to go about her everyday life. She hadn't laughed or smiled once since the day that wall fell, she barely ate the food Molly brought her each day, and she would hardly speak unless someone directly questioned her. George could understood her pain and unwillingness to carry on as though nothing was wrong, but he was still in the shop every day, faking laughs and smiles with customers and managing his life as best he could; he was fulfilling his brother's dreams. Hermione was doing nothing of the sort.

According to his mum, she was constantly falling ill from lack of food or sleep; she was a dead girl in a living body. It was at this point that George felt the need to intervene. He had promised his brother that he would take care of the young witch, no matter what, and refused to break his final promise to his best friend. Not only did he feel the need to keep his word, but he missed the friend that she had rapidly become to him upon entering Fred's life. He couldn't stand to lose one more person, especially not her.

So, after closing up shop on a particularly Fred-filled day, George made a point of walking out the door instead of up the stairs, and he apparated to the Burrow as soon as the door was locked behind him. When he arrived, the house was bleak and silent, a normal thing these days in the Weasley home. His mum was preparing a tray to send up to Hermione's room, his dad was still at the Ministry, and everyone else was in the living room. Harry and Ginny were glaring at each other across the couch – a rather nasty breakup, that one was – Ron was playing Wizard's Chess with a bemused Luna, and Percy was scribbling away on some damaged sheet of parchment, huffing and tutting to himself every so often. There was no joy in the room, and George felt as though he was suffocating. Their grief, anger, and pathetic attempts at distracting themselves from the loss of his twin were consuming their lives, and he refused to sit back and watch any longer. This is not how his brother would want them to live, but he would deal with them later.

Instead of starting the conversation he knew that he would be forced to initiate later, George made his way back to the kitchen and grabbed the dinner tray from his mum's hands. He pecked her on the cheek and started up the stairs, hoping that he wouldn't be interrupted. Dealing with Hermione was his first priority; he doubted it would be beneficial to have the entire family there while he comforted the girlfriend they never knew Fred had. He walked up the steps slowly, careful not to make too much of a ruckus on his way, and let himself think about his own pain for just a moment before he tried to help someone else deal with theirs.

He had lost his brother, his best friend, and his co-proprietor in a single day, and he didn't feel as though anyone understood how serious of an effect that had left on his _life,_ not just his emotions. He now had an empty flat, an aching family, and a business much too large for him to handle himself. The real world effects of Fred's death were draining him of any energy he had to put towards his own emotional healing, and not one person had felt comfortable enough around him to offer their assistance. He knew that he'd never be the same, but he would survive, and he'd start living again eventually. He wasn't so sure about Hermione, though. She hadn't even bothered to brush her hair in a week, from what he'd heard, and she hadn't read a book since the night before the Final Battle. She didn't seem to _want _to live anymore, and that was what worried George the most.

When he opened her bedroom door – well, the door to his and Fred's old bedroom, anyway – he was not met with a reassuring sight. She was lying on the bed, her face buried in a pillow, with a piece of parchment clenched in her fist. Her body was quaking with her sobs and her hair was still a nest, but she had showered and changed, and that left George with a bit of hope. He set the tray on the nightstand and sat next to her on the bed, carefully removing the parchment from her hand. She released it willingly after a short glance at his face, but she immediately turned back to her pillow, sobbing once more.

George rested a hand in her hair and turned his attention to the parchment before him for just a moment. He immediately Fred's nearly illegible writing; nobody in their family, aside from their mother, wrote with such slanted script. On the blank side of the parchment, there was one line in the middle of the page that read "When you don't know what else to do." George sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Fred had told him about this letter; he had written it to keep her motivated and calm on her mission, not if he _died. _Still, George could recognize that this was the moment where Hermione had no idea what she was doing, so he decided not to allow his thoughts to slip from his lips.

Instead, he began to read the letter aloud.

_"Hermione,_

_Why on earth did you open this bloody letter? Woman, I swear, you're being absolutely daft. I know that you're sitting there shaking your head at me, but you listen to me, Granger: I know the woman that I fell in love with. She always knows exactly what to do._

_You're the brightest witch in our generation, and you can do anything. You've battled against Voldemort. You've taken down Death Eaters. Bleeding Hells, Hermione, you've even stolen from_Snape! _So don't you dare sit there and justify giving up."_

There, George paused for and let out small chuckle. His brother had been so proud to tell him about Hermione's second year adventures, and he couldn't help but smile at the memory. It had been one of their first about this sad young witch beside him, and it was one he would never forget.

Allowing the smile, George continued,

_"Any reason that you've come up with so far is complete and utter bullocks, and you know it. Stop making excuses, and stop doubting yourself. This is just another – what was that Muggle phrase you liked? – yeah, it's just another bump in the road. And honestly, woman, how bad can it possibly be?_

_So, what? Your hair's going wild out there?  
I've always liked it best that way._

_You're hungry?  
Well then, dear Merlin, go play thief again._

_Ronnie has your knickers in a twist?  
Well, then take them off and send them my way!_

_See? Problem solved._

_If that last one isn't the issue then I'll be a very disappointed wizard this week, but you'll still know what to do._

_You always do._

_Whatever problem you're facing, fix it. I know you can._

_Come home to me, Granger. Stay alive, and come home to me, and you can tell me how bloody stupid it was of you to have opened this letter in the first place._

_Love,_

_Fred."_

When he finished, George allowed himself a moment to process everything he'd just read. While the letter was written for Hermione, George couldn't help but tear up over his brother's words. When they spoke amongst themselves, Fred had always made the possibility of his death a very real one to his twin; with Hermione, it seemed that he'd tried to be the brave, positive one, and George wasn't sure whether that helped Hermione or not. He almost felt envious that she hadn't been forced to face the possibility before it actually happened.

Still, as he wrapped his arms around the girl, he couldn't help but cry alongside her. There was nothing he could do or say to help this. He could only hold her until she fell asleep and listen to her random mutterings with sympathy.

"Not this time, Fred. Not this time."


End file.
